


The Last Truth

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort/Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He’s broken and Lucifer is still staring at him as if he’s a gift — something to be mounted on a pedestal.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Truth

**Author's Note:**

> _While I was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight_   
>  _You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate_   
>  _You made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take_   
>  _So I’ll drive so fucking far away that I never cross your mind_   
>  _And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind._   
>  **Hate Me by Blue October**
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of services. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Sam watches a man on his knees pushing seeds into the barren wasteland before him. The hunter can only catch glimpses of his face. Tousled brown hair and worried eyes, fingers scratching at the hard earth for something to give. Sometimes the man’s facial features will blur, like spilled water where Sam will catch glimpses of his brother’s face and nearly remember… Remember what, though? That’s the question Sam can’t seem to answer. Each night, Sam dreams of this. Dreams of a man he can’t quite remember attempting to work the unworkable soil before him. 

“Selfishness doesn’t always beget success,” a voice hums out behind Sam, the hunter spinning on his heels to find Lucifer. Face is still worn and being chewed away by Grace, gnawing at the fabric of flesh until the muscles are exposed. Sam swallows and lets his fingers curl into tight fists, wondering if he could dig his nails deep enough into his palms would Lucifer vanish like before. The archangel only eyes him before smiling, head tilting to the right and chiding at himself, “I know. The irony is palpable.” 

This couldn’t be happening again. Didn’t Castiel mojo it out of Sam and onto him?

“Are you…part of my dream? A hallucination?” Sam finally rushes out, words a bit slurred as he tumbled over each letter, feeling panic swell in his throat. 

There is no cackle. No hissing. No raunchy metaphor or off-key singing. Just a curious archangel watching him with a welcoming smile. “Whether I am a piece of a dream or a walking hallucination, would I not just give you the answer you’d expect me to give?” he counters lowly and turns his head away from Sam, eyeing the hunched over figure trying to work the land.

Sam opens his mouth but falters. 

This…whether this was real or fictitious, Lucifer had a point. Already he was, possibly, supplying his own answers. 

“Call this understanding,” Lucifer breaks the silence, eyes still fixated before him, “What you see here…is just an echo of a moment when we both understood each other. A moment of unmistakable truth both achieved by us.” The blond gives a rueful smile as if it was a rather romantic notion, something to be mulled about over one’s tongue and hazy daydreams. But as quickly does his lips twist, as quickly does it slide into something quiet and pensive, finally turning back to Sam. 

“I couldn’t connect with you until I was released… “ he assured, as if there were some troubles Lucifer was keen on debunking. “We can both assume that as long as the Cage remains sealed, we will never meet again. All that is left is this. An echo,” Lucifer finishes, making a motion with his hand at himself. 

“Are you — will you stick around?” A part of him is stupidly relieved at this news despite the churn of fear, loss and anticipation he can feel in his gut. Sam can’t understand why he feels…loss?

_Christ, what would Dean say?_

Lips curl just slightly, but the archangel’s gaze is distant. “No, Sam. Memories are not forever. One day this understanding will become warped simply due to time. Perhaps it will become so faded that you can’t even fathom it ever existed or, perhaps, it’ll turn sour and malicious,” he states simply before adding with a quiet fondness, “While I detest humanity… I must admit, that the mind is a parallel to Heaven… A neural landscape sending sparks of information, always changing and reorganizing.” 

Lucifer adds in quiet afterthought, almost to himself, “Very fleeting.” 

Sam can feel the threat wither, watching the archangel keep a healthy distance between them, threading his fingers together before him. The hunter shifts his weight from foot-to-foot before turning his gaze back to the dry landscape surrounding them both. This is nothing but something he will wake up from in hours and there’s something quietly reassuring about that fact.

“It’s not exactly pretty…” Sam finally comments, pointing at the cracked earth, feeling its heat from under his feet.

Lucifer only smiles, staring at Sam before replying warmly, “A matter of perception, I suppose. You see a desert, I see a garden.” The smile twists into something of disapproval, eyes sliding back to the stranger in the scene, oblivious to the both of them. The archangel’s shoulders roll back, fingers unlacing as a low growl is issued out, “A garden that is in need of someone to get rid of the weeds. This shouldn’t be happening to you, Sam.”

Sam eyes Lucifer warily before turning his head to watch the crouched figure on the ground, not quite sure why this stranger is a threat. There’s a tremor of relief easing the weight on his shoulders at the change of tone, regardless. There’s something grotesquely reassuring at the promise of protection and the implication that it’s not his fault. 

Sam, instantly, coils it back up, shaking his head and snarling at himself in disbelief. _**Relieved?! At Lucifer?!**_ He can hear Dean seething in disbelief already.

“What if I want you gone right now?” Sam asks hastily, fingers curling into tight fists, as if to bury that brief moment of relief.

There’s a strain in the small smile given, “I’d leave, if you asked me to.”

“Would you…be gone? Gone gone? Forever?” Sam doesn’t know when he started to pace, too busy fixated of the taste of ash on his tongue at each word. 

He wants him to say ‘no.’ To assure him that there is nothing Sam can do that will prevent the archangel from leaving. That he can walk away knowing he did what he could and rebuked the Devil, but he’ll stay. He wants Dean to at least know that he did his part and said ‘no’ but he wants to keep that reassuring weight of comfort and safety the archangel can provide. Even the thoughts crash together in his skull, strings of contradictions and foolhardy hopes.

The archangel is quiet, tongue dancing behind his teeth, briefly looking unsure of whether to keep silent or not. But he gives a nod, “Yes, Sam. If that’s what you wish.” 

The answer drives an exasperated sound out of Sam. “It just feels… _wrong_ ,” he explains to the archangel, “Just talking to you like this…feels wrong.”

“To you or to Dean?” 

Sam frowns, looking suddenly irritated, “No, to… I mean, yes to Dean but — _both._ ” The archangel gives a nod as if he understands. Sam doesn’t want him to understand. _He_ just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how he can continue to feel toxic, ruined and clumsy. He’s not even a good hunter anymore, always blacking out and ending on the floor, Dean cleaning up his mess. He’s broken and Lucifer is still staring at him as if he’s a gift — something to be mounted on a pedestal. Sam’s certain he could curse and insult the archangel and he’d still look at him with undying affection. 

He hates it. Hates how good it feels and that it’s coming from Lucifer, leaving his words weary and strained. 

“It just… I’m so tired of being…me. Of just feeling wrong and I thought the trials were going to fix me. Were going to fix our relationship. So he isn’t…doesn’t look at me like I’m something that might attack him in the night. I — ” Sam gives a ragged intake of air, “— don’t know what I have to do to be pure enough for him and…for myself.”

The archangel remains silent, his jaw working. “I just want to be…pure, I guess. I don’t want to be looked at and all Dean sees is Ruby, Lilith…” Sam trails off with a faltered huff, recounting Dean’s piercing words before they entered the church that night to deal with Crowley. He was the freak with the demon blood, again. He was the freak who got conned by a demon and said ‘yes’ to the Devil. 

“And me,” Lucifer finishes for him gently and it makes the hunter wince. The blond is quick to ease, shaking his head gently in a sign he meant no ill will, “I never meant to be a hinderance, Sam. I wish there was another way. I never wanted you to go through…this. Sam, I don’t wish anything I’ve gone through onto others. Not even on my enemies.” His jaw is working again, the archangel turning his gaze down at his feet in a gesture albeit too human, fingers lacing themselves back together. “Somehow,” Lucifer begins with a heavy exhale, “At the end of the day, I failed the most important person in my life and I am at a loss of how to fix it.”

Sam’s stunned, a shaky sound escaping him and staring at the blond. His throat feels tight and he gives a thick swallow, fingers itching to grab at the archangel’s rotting arms. It feels good. So stupidly good. But it always has felt stupidly good. Letting Lucifer in felt stupidly good, safe and exhilarating and he fought tooth and nail against those observations made by the archangel. He wasn’t supposed to feel good. He was supposed to feel nauseous and repulsed at having them both unified. Sam tried so damn hard to burn that bridge, to deep-fry every connection between them despite how, suddenly, whole he felt. 

Lucifer’s eyes widen gently as if he caught trace of the thought before he’s tilting his head, giving out a pleading, “ _Sam, please._ ” 

Sam only shakes his head, “I just… I don’t… Why is it that the only person I feel I can trust wholeheartedly and feel…worth something is the _Devil_?” The words ring out harshly and the archangel makes a face at the name used and spat out. “Shouldn’t — isn’t that what family supposed to do? People you can trust? Go to? Feel comfortable around? Not feel like…there’s mud in your veins and always feeling the need to prove yourself?”

The archangel shifts, as if he can feel Sam’s anger in waves. Lucifer wets his lips and gives a quiet, “Yes, but… I could be your family, Sam. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

_‘They were foster care — at best. I'm your real family.’_

He remembers this argument. Remembers the haunting clarity in it all and even now it rattles him so. 

“Stop,” he grits out, “I’m not your family. I don’t want you. I don’t want you looking at me the way you do. I don’t want you to like me — 

“— _Sam._ ”

“ **No!** ” Sam cuts him off, shaking his head, a growing helplessness bleeding into his words, “It doesn’t make sense! I ruined everything for you. I…you’re never going to get out. I’m never going to say ‘yes’ again so what’s the point?” There’s a wounded look on the archangel’s face and Sam swears he can see the skin on his arms beginning to heal. “It’d be easier if you just hated me,” Sam issues out, giving a nod to himself because that made sense. Lucifer hating him made sense. “Be angry that I…I fucked it up. That…that I’m going to die from a hunt or…or old age and when you do come back — if you do — I’m going to be dust,” his words have shaken into a rising shout, an ugly victory blossoming when the archangel finally averts his eyes from Sam. His words are getting somewhere and it’s a hideous rise of encouragement. 

“ _Get mad at me. Get furious!_ ” he angrily pleads at Lucifer but he remains still. Lucifer only watches the uneasy shakes of Sam’s chest, body unable to be kept still and breathing stumbling over hiccups. A choked sound pushes past the grind of Sam’s teeth, rushing forward and shoving at the archangel. “ _Do it_ ,” he demands, Lucifer letting himself be moved a few steps back. 

“No.” 

Sam gives a frustrated noise, face twisting and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You can’t or you won’t?” He lets his fingers curl into Lucifer’s shirt, knuckles white and Sam can feel it amongst the heat of this arid landscape. He can feel that familiar breath of ice, cool and running across Sam’s flushed skin. Even amongst the hurt wedged on the archangel’s face, he can feel that overwhelming forgiveness and acceptance. 

“I won’t, Sam,” Lucifer soothes, a hand tentatively moving to his face. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m here for you,” he reassures, trying to ease the tightness in his chest. Sam fights the urge to lean into those fingers that cradle the right side of his face. Before Lucifer can run his thumb across Sam’s wet cheekbone, the hunter punches him in the jaw. 

Sam doesn’t stop till he feels Lucifer’s fingers, finally, slide off of his face. Lucifer stumbles away, touching his lip and baffled at the sight of blood. “Is this really what you want?” he finally asks, Sam giving a jerky nod. There it is again. Sam can see it now, skin repairing itself slowly but surely. 

“It’ll make me happy,” Sam grunts, holding his chin high as if it’ll make his words more convincing. He knows what he's doing. Knows he's killing the Morning Star and he can't stop shaking. He's smothering this welcoming connection of understanding between them and he can't bring himself to stop.

“I don’t want this to be your last memory of me…” the archangel confesses quietly. 

Sam watches the lacerations shrink in size, new skin repairing what was broken. Sam watched a familiar version in the alterations, hair no longer astray and eyes lacking it’s facets of different blues and ice. Only a dulled color shone through, mouth pulling into a macabre grin. This one makes sense. This one, who breaks with his hands and strings him up like a butcher’s finished work in his shop. This one who jabs at him till he bleeds, only to dig his fingers into the wound and stretch it wider till the pain is too hot and too real. This one who tricks him into joy rides into the middle of nowhere, pretending to be his brother and laughing at the trick when it’s revealed.

This is the Lucifer who seeks malicious retribution to the boy who threw a wrench in his plan. This is easier to understand. 

“That’s not your choice to make,” Sam heaves out shakily, already digging his fingers into his palm in a familiar and futile effort. His shuts his eyes tightly and wills the blond to go away. 

There’s a heavy sigh followed by the blond’s tongue clicking in amusement, “Ah, free will…” 

When Sam finally looks up, Lucifer is gone. He stares listlessly at the desert landscape, beginning to notice the bright sprouting of weeds. Sam can’t be bothered to care.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
